


There is no place like home

by nishiki



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Family Feels, Feelings, Feels, Forgiveness, Gen, Home, Light Angst, Light Hurt/Comfort, coming home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:01:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28217379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishiki/pseuds/nishiki
Summary: Unable to cope with the fact that he had almost killed his brother Sigurd, Ivar leaves his family. Months later, his brothers are certain that he is dead.
Relationships: Bjorn & Hvitserk & Ivar & Sigurd & Ubbe (Vikings), Bjorn & Ivar (Vikings), Bjorn & Ubbe (Vikings), Hvitserk & Ivar (Vikings), Hvitserk & Sigurd (Vikings), Hvitserk & Ubbe (Vikings), Ivar & Sigurd (Vikings), Ivar & Ubbe (Vikings), Sigurd & Ubbe (Vikings)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 51





	There is no place like home

**Author's Note:**

> For the 1k follower celebration of Youbloodymadgenius on Tumblr <3 <3 <3

Ubbe was worried as he watched the thick snowflakes fall from the darkening sky that stretched above these strange lands. England was still as unfamiliar to him as it had been when the Great Heathen Army had first landed on the shores of Northumbria months ago. King Aelle’s death, their campaign against King Ecbert and his ilk, all that seemed so far away now. Ubbe had wanted to settle and so now he stood on the land that they had pried from the hands of their enemy and was overlooking the settlement that they had built on the ashes of the one their father and Lagertha had built a lifetime ago. This time, Ubbe Ragnarsson knew, it would be a success for the young prince Alfred was already a better and smarter leader than his father had ever been and his brother Aethelred was smart enough to heed his brother’s advice. 

Bjorn had left them shortly after their victory over Ecbert but he had returned this morning to see what had become of his brothers and their plans in this strange land - and, of course, to celebrate Yule with them. Their first Yule in this new land where they were not only the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok but able to make names for themselves, where they would create their own sagas. 

“Still no news of Ivar?” Bjorn’s voice would have startled him had he not already heard him approach, his heavy steps crunching on the snow. Ubbe sighed and his breath fogged in front of his face. It was bitterly cold out here and most people were in their houses already to escape into the warmth of their new homes. Regardless of the cold and the harsh winds, every night Ubbe would find himself standing on that hill that was overlooking his settlement - watching, waiting.

“No,” He replied quietly almost as if he hoped the wind would rip his words away. “Nothing. Hvitserk thinks he is dead.”

“What do _you_ think?”

“I think,” - He turned the words over and over in his head, tasting them on his tongue, and found them to be lacking. Still, he said them regardless -“I think that the chances of a cripple surviving out in the wilderness in a strange, and unfamiliar country where he has no friends or alleys and is all by his lonesome, are slim to nonexistent. I do not want it to be true. However, I would be a fool to claim that Ivar is anything but dead. I think, as much as I hate it, that Ivar is dead. He might have starved out there. He might have frozen to death. He might have been attacked by an animal. He might have hurt himself and could not find help. Or he might have been attacked by Saxons. Whatever happened to him, he has probably not survived his first months out there.”

Bjorn was silent for a while before he put his arm around Ubbe’s shoulders. There had been a time when Ubbe had looked up to his brother with nothing but admiration and thought that Bjorn always knew what the right thing to do was. He knew better now. Bjorn had left them behind without consideration for what would happen when he would leave and still Ubbe found it difficult to be mad at him. Maybe he would have done the same thing. They were all adults, after all. They were no longer Bjorn’s kid brothers, no longer that hoard of puppies that he needed to protect. 

“It has been his choice to leave,” Bjorn said after a while. “He has decided to leave because he could not deal with what he has done. It is not your fault, Ubbe. I know that it pains you greatly that Ivar is dead but you have no blame in that. You would not have been able to stop Ivar.”

“I know,” Ubbe muttered and wished that the words would reach his heart. Maybe then he would not find the need in him to come out here every night to look for his lost lamb. He had the feeling, however, that this was what his life would look like from now on. As long as he would not know what happened to his baby brother, he would find himself searching and restless. “I know … No one was ever able to stop Ivar the boneless.”

Bjorn patted him on the back at that. “How is Sigurd?” He then asked a little more light-hearted and forced his younger brother to turn his back to the settlement. Together the brothers walked down the hill. The longhouse was calling for them with the promise of warmth and good food. 

“He is getting better each day,” Ubbe replied with a smile. “But his recovery is slow. Much slower than he would like, of course. The last infection he caught almost brought him to his knees but I think the worst is behind him now.”

“None of us can claim to have much patience. It is not in our blood for our father was not very patient either.”

They reached the foot of the hill within minutes and walked through the settlement, greeting whatever soul was still out there with them, and finally walked into the longhouse. Tomorrow the big Yule celebration would take place but tonight it was only them, the remaining sons of Ragnar enjoying a night in peace all to themselves. Yet, as they later sat around the fire on pillows or propped against stools with bowls of delicious smelling stew in their hands and mead in their cups, none of them spoke, none of them could shake the feeling that something was not right. Sigurd ate like a bird since his injury. He sat propped against a column on a few pillows, a fur draped over his shoulders and his lap, his face pale and his eyes tired. The fever and the infection had almost taken his life even as Ivar’s ax had failed to do so.

Until now, even though it had been months, Sigurd had not yet talked about the incident or his little brother. He could not fool Ubbe, though. No, Ubbe knew that Sigurd thought as much about Ivar as he and Hvitserk did. He would catch him sometimes looking over his shoulder, expecting to see Ivar to throw some snarky comment at him for something he had said or to goad his little brother into a fight only to be disappointed when there was only thin air staring back at him. Ivar’s absence from their life was as loud as Ivar himself. Sigurd and Ivar’s relationship had always been rocky but Sigurd loved his little brother all the same - even though it had taken an ax to his chest and for his little brother to vanish for Sigurd to realize that. And now they all knew that it might be too late. 

“It is our first Yule away from Kattegat,” Hvitserk said after a while, his usually so open expression guarded and unreadable even for Ubbe. Hvitserk was not really the sentimental type of guy and yet he seemed overcome with great nostalgia. “Our first Yule without Mother and Father.”

“Our first Yule without Ivar,” Sigurd added quietly, his eyes lowered on the bowl in his hand. “It is strange … not having him here, is it not?”

“It is,” Bjorn agreed. “He would be starting fights with us right now over the food or the quality of the mead or he would ridicule our plans. I can not deny that I miss that. He kept us on our toes because he would pick apart every plan we made and thus, in turn, made them better.”

“To Ivar,” Ubbe said and raised his cup. “Wherever he is.”

“To Ivar!” His three remaining brothers chimed in. They emptied their cups and refilled them and finally, they began to eat. Yet, Ubbe already knew that tomorrow, he would be up on that hill again, looking for his lost brother and his brothers knew that too. They all had found their own way to cope with the loss of their youngest. Bjorn had committed his life to exploring the world, Hvitserk was keeping an eye on the children of their settlement even though Ubbe could tell that his war-hungry brother was getting restless, and Sigurd played his Oud for the people that wanted to listen to it, maybe hoping that one day he might just hear the voice of his little brother in the crowd telling him to shove it up his ass.

The settlement was silent and still and the moon stood high above the valley as Ubbe walked over to the open doors of the longhouse once again. Outside, the flurry had started to become worse. A snowstorm was sure to hit soon. He and his brothers had sat for hours around the cozy fire, eating and drinking and exchanging stories but things were different than they should be. It was time to lock the doors to the longhouse, to keep the snow and the cold outside so that he and his brothers might retreat to their beds. Tomorrow was a new day and the people of their settlement wanted to celebrate Yule. None of them shared the pain the brothers were feeling that night. 

Just as Ubbe shoved the first of the doors closed, he noticed a figure approaching through the snow. At first, he had not seen them but the closer they came, the clearer their dark silhouette stood against the white snow. The way the figure moved was strange, although it took Ubbe a second to notice that.

“What's wrong?” Hvitserk asked as he approached his older brother but Ubbe only pointed outside towards the figure that was clearly coming towards them. They were dressed in a cowl that was gently swaying in the wind, as far as he could tell and for a moment, Ubbe felt painfully reminded of the day Odin had come to him and his brothers to inform them of Ragnar’s death. The closer the figure came, however, the clearer Ubbe could see that they were limping quite badly, one leg dragging behind them as they were putting all their weight onto a thick knob. His heart stopped for just a single beat.

“Ivar” The word escaped him without thinking, so silently it was ripped from his lips by the harsh wind. He stepped outside without waiting for Hvitserk, not yet sure if the figure outside was nothing more than a drunk hallucination of sorts or actually there. Hvitserk did not stop him, though, as he walked into the snow and the flurry. As only three steps separated him from the figure, they stopped and brushed the hood off their head. He was met with bright blue eyes and a tuft of dark hair, a pale face, and a lopsided, though uncertain smile. Before one of his other brothers could say anything or call for his attention and not yet sure if what he saw was really there, Ubbe bridged the remaining distance and closed his arms around the figure of his brother.

Silence lay like a blanket over the five sons of Ragnar as they sat around the fire in the longhouse, reunited at last after seven long months. The sons of Ragnar were not known to be quiet characters but right now none of them knew the right words to say. As he looked at his youngest brother now, his lost little lamb, he saw once again how he had thrown his ax in a fit of rage at their brother Sigurd, saw Sigurd fall to the ground, saw Ivar’s face frozen in panic as he had realized what he had done. The same moment that had sundered their family for seven months was replaying over and over and over in his head without mercy.

“Where have you been?” Hvitserk asked after a while as he refilled his brother’s empty cup. Ivar’s black armor was in tatters by now after the months he had spent in the wilderness, his hair was longer and unkempt. Still no beard though, a proof of how young his brother truly was. 

“Everywhere … nowhere…” Ivar replied calmly and took a sip from the mead his older brother had just refilled so graciously. “I drifted through the land without knowing where to go, really.”

“How are you still alive?”

“Ah,” Ivar murmured, a small chuckle escaping him as Bjorn could no longer hold back the question that all of them really wanted to know the answer to for it seemed a miracle that Ivar was sitting with them now, alive and well. It was so miraculous, that Ubbe could barely keep his hands to himself and stop himself from touching Ivar just to make sure he was really there. “Father warned me that everyone would always underestimate me but I would not have thought my own kin would make that mistake too. I am much more capable than you think I am. I hunted when I was hungry. Sometimes I survived on plants and mushrooms and whatever I could steal. I avoided villages and towns, of course. A cripple like me … there is no way of knowing what they might have done to me. Most of the time I spent in the woods, exploring the land, thinking.”

“Thinking?” Bjorn asked, his voice raised several octaves as if the word itself was foreign to him. It spoke to Ivar’s exhaustion that he was not taking a jab on his brother for that. “About what?”

“The Gods … this land … the opportunities ahead, myself, and my actions, my family.” Ubbe grabbed the back of his brother’s neck just like he used to do without thinking too much about it. Ivar’s skin was cold to the touch and he needed rest and something warm to eat. “I won't lie … sometimes it was a pretty close call. I broke my leg a few months ago. I thought … I was sure that I had to cut it all off or die of infection. I was delirious from fever and sickness. I would have gone through with it too but I came across a priest who took me in and helped me.”

“Why did you leave?” Ubbe asked at last but this time he did not get an answer right away. Ivar bit down on his bottom lip instead and looked into his cup as if he would find the answer he was looking for on the bottom of it. So far he had avoided looking at Sigurd for the entire time they were sitting here. 

“I am glad you are alive, Sigurd.” Ivar surprised them all as he finally looked at his brother. “I didn't know if you would make it.”

“Is that why you left?” Bjorn asked with raised brows. “To escape the punishment for kin-slaying?”

“No!” The answer came out more forcefully than before. His voice had been soft and even until now. “I would have gladly taken the punishment! I am not a coward, Bjorn Ironside. I left because … I could not stand the thought of what I have done. I…” Again, he bit his bottom lip before looking back at Sigurd. “I never wanted to hurt you. I acted out of anger and … I am truly sorry, Sigurd. I did not have control over myself-”

“If that is-”

“I allowed for too long that my anger controlled me,” Ivar spat, cutting Bjorn off once more. “Because for all my life it served me well. All my life I never knew anything but anger but I never meant to hurt my own flesh and blood. I regretted it the moment the ax left my hand and if I could take it back I would - but that is not in my power. I realized that, if I would stay and if Sigurd would die, that you, my brothers, would have to render a judgment over me. The punishment for kin-slaying is death. Although I would have readily accepted it … I did not want any of my brothers to have to do it. I thought one dead brother was more than enough pain to be put upon my family. So, I decided to leave and free you from the burden. I would not have thought to survive for as long as I did. I thought that I should put my fate in the hands of the gods. I thought, if Sigurd would die, certainly the Gods would see to it that I would die too out there. But they did not. I survived and survived and survived until I heard about this settlement and my brothers playing farmers. For a long time, I did not know if I wanted to return.”

“And why did you?” Ubbe asked, at last, his voice soft as he squeezed Ivar’s neck carefully.

A small laugh escaped Ivar. “I fell into a frozen lake,” He huffed. “A fortnight ago. I was certain the ice would carry me but it did not. You know I cannot swim and I … I can admit that I am scared of the water. So, when I fell through the ice I was sure that this time there would be no way out, this time I would die. And yet, I did not. Somehow I managed to find my way back to the surface and I survived. As I lay there, cold and alone, above me only the stars, I decided that I had tempted the Gods enough and that, if even then they did not want my death, that they wanted me to return home - to my brothers, to make amends for what I did. The only thing I can hope for now is that my brothers will actually allow me back into their fold.”

Ubbe wanted to pull him into a hug and he could tell that Hvitserk thought the same thing but they both held back.

“That is not on us to decide,” Bjorn, always the leader, said. “You almost killed Sigurd. It is his decision to make if he wants to forgive you or if he wants you gone.”

Sigurd did not appear to be rushed to say something as he stared into the flames between himself and his little brother. Sigurd and Ivar’s relationship had always been fragile at the best of times but for months Sigurd had battled with the injury his brother had inflicted upon him and the resulting consequences. However, sometimes when Ubbe would talk to him he felt like being confined to his bed and being reliant on the help of his brothers for such a long time, had taught Sigurd a thing or two about Ivar’s plight. 

“If I would send him back out into the cold, Ubbe would never forgive me,” Sigurd then said, his eyes finally meeting Ivar’s. “I can see that he is lactating already now that his baby is back at his side, ready to suck on his teats.” Hvitserk barked out a laugh at that and Ubbe felt the heat rise in his cheek. Instead of pushing Ivar away from him, he pulled him closer and kissed the side of his head.

“Besides,” Sigurd then continued, the smirk still remaining on his face. “I am still alive and we can thank the Gods and Helga’s magnificent healing hands for that - but we can also thank the Gods that Ivar too is still alive. This Yule celebration marks the end of the year. We lost our father this year. We lost our mother this year. However, we were also victorious over the Saxons and took our revenge for the death of our father. We conquered land and we built something new. We opened the path for more of our people to follow us into this new land so that our people might thrive. I do not wish to end this year by casting my little brother out into the wilderness for him to die after all. I can admit that I have not been the best brother to you, Ivar.”

That took all of them by surprise, especially Ivar, who quickly looked away again. 

“I can admit that I have been jealous because Mother clung to you and cast me to the wayside. When Siggy died” - Bjorn stiffened beside them but he did not say anything - “I realized that it might as well have been me and she would not have noticed. But that was not your fault, Ivar. I should have seen that earlier and tried to be a better brother. You may have thrown an ax at me out of anger but I too have lashed out in anger at you and I hurt you just as deeply as your ax hurt me. As far as I am concerned, I would like to bury the hatchet so that we might just begin the new year as a united front once again.”

Ivar had never been particularly good at hiding his emotions and he was not even trying to now as he sat beside Ubbe, a tear rolling down his face before he clenched his jaw, squeezed his lips into a tight line, and gave a sharp nod. 

“Now, kiss and make up!”

With as much accuracy as he had applied throwing his ax so many months ago, Ivar now threw his cup, hitting Hvitserk right on the forehead. His brother fell back playfully against the ground, groaning in mock-injury and Ubbe watched, amazed how Ivar quickly crawled over to finish him. He watched them scuffle on the ground like children, before Hvitserk regained the upper hand and pressed a very wet, very audible smooch to his brother’s mouth before falling onto him and remaining there, pinning Ivar beneath him.

“I should not have returned,” Ivar groaned and, just like that, the spell that had hung over their heads, seemed broken.

“He is your problem now,” Sigurd shot back with a grin as he slowly managed to get off the floor to retreat to bed. It would be the first night in seven months that all of them would sleep in the same room again and it would be the first time in seven months that Ubbe too would finally find a peaceful slumber.


End file.
